History Meets Philosophy At New Orleans' Travel Inn

NEW ORLEANS — Scribbled in my notebook is this quote from Wilbert Oliver, the greatest cab driver in the entire Universe: ''You got to cut the cake the way it's marked.''

You see, Wilbert, 51, grew up in a family with five brothers and three sisters, and whenever his mama baked a cake she had the wisdom to make slice marks in the icing immediately to ensure that everyone would get a piece.

You just didn't go slicing yourself a piece of cake that was bigger than what Mrs. Oliver decided you should have, a rule that Wilbert has since enlarged to encompass his overall philosophy of life as we know it and which I, too, have recently adopted as a general guide to doing what is good and right and needs to be done.

So when George Bush ends what little suspense the Republican National Convention had going for it by announcing yuppyvote-getter Dan Quayle as his running mate, and when you can't abide sitting through another evening of convention speeches, you tell yourself, ''You just got to cut the cake the way it's marked.''

And then what you do is round up a couple of your fellow journalists and get a taxi and go drink beer in Room 7 of the Travel Inn on Airline Highway, the very motel room that served as the favorite rendezvous spot of now-famous New Orleans prostitute Debra Murphee and that duck-walking man of the cloth, the Rev. Jimmy Swaggart.

Wilbert Oliver, of course, was the cab driver who took us to the Travel Inn, which is probably no seedier than any other motel with a sign in the lobby that warns, ''Absolutely no refunds after 15 minutes'' (hint-hint, nudge-nudge). The posted rate: $10 an hour.

At first it looked as if we might be thwarted in our attempt to visit the room in question. The night clerk said: ''Ain't no way I'm gonna show you what room Jimmy Swaggart used'' and promptly phoned for the manager, a hard-looking individual named Jim Reno, whose ancestors, he said, lent their name to the Nevada gambling town. Mr. Reno was not about to take a chance on letting newspaper people proceed with some damn-fool scheme that could only mean more problems for him.

''My business has gone straight to hell ever since that Jimmy Swaggart thing,'' he said. ''I've lost a good $50,000 in business because of that sumbitch. Things are just starting to pick back up, and I don't want to screw things up now.''

That was when I began to explain to Mr. Reno that, in keeping with the spirit of aggressive entrepreneurship that is at the very heart of the Republican Party, he should exploit the living hell out of his motel's notoriety and that we were, in reality, there to help him make money. That was also when one of my colleagues slipped Mr. Reno $50, and we were escorted directly to Room 7.

''This here is exactly the way this room looked all the times Jimmy Swaggart was here, except for those fake flowers in the vase over there that I just added recently,'' Mr. Reno explained as he flipped the TV dial to a dirty-movie channel that featured a very athletic performance by the noted actress Laurel Canyon.

The room had obviously just been vacated. There was an empty vodka bottle on the table, along with a plateful of uneaten beans and rice. The bed was unmade, but Wilbert Oliver the cab driver sat on it, anyway, just shaking his head and saying, ''I want you all to know that I am a family man, but I am real glad that I came along with you here.'' He is, after all, the greatest cab driver in the entire Universe.

We had brought with us a sackful of beer, so we sat around and drank it all while discussing with Mr. Reno the future marketing plans for the Travel Inn. We have decided on something very low-key and tasteful to begin with. Amazingly, until now there has been no sign at the Travel Inn to let the public know its historical significance. But I have ordered a small brass plaque that reads ''Jimmy Swaggart Memorial Room,'' and with Mr. Reno's permission we will soon be bolting it onto the wall right in Room 7.

It was just something good and right that needed to be done. You got to cut the cake the way it's marked.